


Mercutio's Backstory

by Ambrose, Astray



Series: SMAUG shenanigans [9]
Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Alcohol (ab)use, Depression, Gen, M/M, Murder, Sexual Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, Trigger warnings:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 07:36:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7565659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrose/pseuds/Ambrose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astray/pseuds/Astray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercutio's rough, neglected childhood turns into reckless behaviour as he grows up. Some people look out for him, but sometimes that isn't enough. And sometimes it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The street was dark, the stones were rough. The air was lacking, so cold it seeped from his lungs with his breaths. Why had he come here, that was a question he did not want to ask, or answer. The crunching noise of shoes on the frozen asphalt and dead leaves. Heaving breath. He almost ran then. Self-hatred made him stay. A strong hand grabbed his shoulder, stronger than it had in the club. He almost lost his balance when he turned around. He had drunk too much, he knew. Somehow, he had needed the alcohol. Always had. He had found it easier to deal with when his senses were dulled by the liquor.

The kiss took him by surprise. It was hard, demanding. He let himself be swept by it. It did not matter. Men sometimes did it to show him he was owned. He was not that deluded to think people would ever harbour any kind of affection for him. No one. The thought tore through his mind, and he whimpered. He could not be so weak... His moves sluggish.

Hot hands on his skin, his jacket and tee no obstacle to greed. He shuddered – winter air hit his skin with countless needles – he tensed. He could barely see a thing, the night too dark, the sodium lights too far. Orange-tinged darkness swimming around him. A face he could not register above him. Another kiss, and his head collided with the wall behind him, the stone scraping against his skull. The man bit his lips, moved to his neck. He could not care less. He would get Hell for it later, but why bother hiding it? They called him a slut. Might as well look the part.

He barely had time to register what happened as he was manhandled into facing the wall. He barely managed to get his hands in front of him to avoid his face colliding with the wall. Stone chaffed against his palms. The dull pain gave his something to think about. The man was speaking, and he did not hear him. He had learned how to tune them out. He did not need to hear him anyway. He knew the words already. The slurs, the mock-endearments, sometimes the lies – he was the only one asking for it. He was the slut who wanted it done in a back alley. He deserved it. None of it could touch him now. It could not burrow into his heart anymore – just like a knife can't be held by shredded meat. His heart was too damaged to feel a wound, whatever it was. He fancied his chest was a cracked cage with a gaping hole in it pumping tar onto the pavement. The image enthralled him, took him away from the instant.

He did not feel a thing. He was dead already. He knew it. He knew it before the man got his pants down – why bother with underwear? When the man rammed into him, he should have yelled. His heart missed a beat. The pain was not as bad as it should have been. _Of course I prepared._ He had had to meet the doctor once for his carelessness, it was not happening again. The pace was punishing, he could barely keep himself from being slammed into the wall completely. He was hard. He used to think his body a traitor. But then, it was just a normal reaction to stimulation. His mind remained focused on the cracked ribs leaking black tar. A hand on his cock distracted him – erupting in his mind, temporarily covering the cracked cage with flesh. And it was gone.

He knew when it was time. He had learned a long time ago. How to make them come faster to get it over with. So that he could go back faster. He forced his whole body to tense, to fake pleasure while feeling nothing. The man did not leave straight away, his hand still stroking him. He came, an involuntary shiver, a groan. He felt no relief. He never felt any relief from these trysts. Not now. Not ever. If anything, it only fuelled his disgust.

The man left him, slumped against the wall. He quickly rearranged his clothing. Walked away, gingerly. Pain erupted with each step – red, angry pain. It beat all the way to his place, this small flat he had in town. He knew Benvolio was not here. He was out with Romeo. He did not want Benvolio to see him like this. He climbed the steps to the first floor. Pain flared crimson and gold.

Numb, he discarded his clothes on the tiles of the bathroom. He remained in the shower until he had scrubbed himself raw. He still felt dirty, tainted, no matter how hard he scrubbed his skin, how thorough he was. The cracked cage returned, and the tar seemed thicker. He did not run his hand on the mirror to clear the mist, to see his reflection. He dried his hair half-heartedly. Went to his room. He did not bother with pyjamas, even if it was still cold. Got under the covers. It was only then that his feelings returned. That the sensations in his bruised and cold body came back to him. He was so cold. He curled up in a tight ball, his face scrunched in pain. He was feeling so hollow, the pain was eating at his chest. And he cried. Great sobs shattered whatever self-restraint he still had.

Thoughts and memories broke into his consciousness. He had lost so much, and what he had not lost, he had thrown away. Why did Benvolio still care for him, still stayed with him? He was so absolutely worthless, useless... He was nothing. He was nothing to his family. No one cared unless he was embarrassing them. All they cared about was the pretence that they upheld traditions. But he? He was nothing. A whore, dirt under their shoes, inconsequential waste of space. He wanted to be gone from the world. Death scared him, but he could not take it anymore. He could not.

It was only then that he heard him. He asked him to go away. He should not have been here. He tried to move away when he felt the bed dip under Benvolio's weight. Arms tentatively held him, loose. Lying on the covers... How proper. He asked why, as he always did.

“Because I care about you, Mercutio.”

And he broke down harder still, because he could not understand. He could not understand that gentle, kind, good Benvolio cared about him. Loved him. Because it was that. He knew it, and he hated himself, because he would never be what Benvolio deserved. Never. Yet, he could not resist and he turned around to face him. He barely saw him, his vision blurry. A light brush of lips on his forehead. His whole body was shaking. He could not control it.

A swift movement, Benvolio had gotten under the covers, gathered him in his arms. And Mercutio could not stop himself from holding on. He was choking on his tears, could barely breathe. And a hand ran on his back, soothing. Whispers. Stories and tales – because Benvolio would never ask him questions, would never give him reassurances that would sound weak.

He loved Benvolio so much it hurt. It hurt because he was his best friend and he was hurting him. And always Benvolio stayed with him, and helped him. No matter how many times he thanked him, it was not enough to express the depth of his gratitude. Benvolio's presence was the only thing that gave him the strength to get up in the morning. Even if he was nothing.

“You mean the world, to me.”

And maybe he was predictable, or maybe he had said it aloud. He smiled – a shaky, small smile. He snuggled closer to Benvolio – safe, warm. Not happy, but close enough for pain to let go of him. Enough for sleep to claim him, carried by Benvolio's embrace and soft-spoken words.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It was a mad chase. How long had he been running? It was like running from a shadow at night. Every turn he took seemed to bring him back on his track. The week's rain still made the cobbles slick enough to lose his footing. In the distance, he saw the Palazzo della Signoria – if only he could make it there! There were people – and he had no idea who it was. His lungs burned, he could not breathe properly, unable to stop. Bile surged in his throat – and then pain – bright, hot, in his left thigh – a hard fall. Breathless, and the mind-numbing pain. Through his haze, he thought he could hear footsteps – the sound of a gun being cocked. Probably a silencer, because he heard nothing. High heels clicked, he looked to the side – stilettos. Red in the sodium light. Chased and caught by a woman wearing fucking high heels. The prick of a needle in his neck before he saw any move – he tried to roll around but did not manage to send her flying. Now he saw her – her shadow. Solid, black – he noticed the reflection of the lights at her side – gloves, and a gun. He was going to die like a dog.

“Now, my good man. I will not shoot you. The gun was to slow you down.” So the gun was uncocked. If he could try and get her – he strained, but only managed to move a hand. Shit. What the hell was that?

“What...” At least he could still speak – though he hated how weak he sounded. He was not weak! He'd have gotten that little bitch if it weren't for her gun. He could have turned around and – But first things first. “What did you give me.”

“Just something to stop you from moving overmuch. I tweaked it so it won't impair your breathing too much, though I don't know how well it's working.”

Who the fuck was that woman? He did not get a chance to ask, as she went on: “Feedback's appreciated, by the way.”

“Who are you.”

“Can't answer that. My turn. Do you remember a man called Mercutio?”

He vaguely recalled something, but that was... too long ago. And what the fuck did it have to do with that madwoman? “What if I do?”

She moved so fast he could not keep track until she was crouching almost above him, her face now visible. All in sharp angles and shadows – it was the light, it had to be. The grin she bore was too familiar. He swallowed – it was like looking in a mirror – and came the terrifying thoughts that she was not a random rogue but had been tracking him.

“You are still in trouble. Actually, amnesia might have saved you. Remember anything? In fair Verona, where shadows dance and boys seem free and careless?”

The tone was biting – and it triggered something. Now he recalled. It must have been him. He could not help but grin – clearly, that chick was iffy about whatever happened then. It was a dumb move, but part of him just wanted to know. If she wanted information, she'll get it alright.

“I do remember. I think...” He noticed the narrowing of her eyes, and yeah, that was probably it. “I remember a young one, blond, hot as hell – a sinful mouth that felt absolutely wicked on my –” He could not finish – that fucker was crushing his windpipe. Her grin was vicious, and for one instant, he thought she'd choke him. Then, she let him go.

“You have only one more chance, don't waste it.”

“What do”, he wheezed, “What do you want to know?” Damn, she had a good grip.

“Several things: do you have any idea who you are fucking with? Do you feel any kind of remorse for using a kid just because, hey, he was begging for it? Or was it so good for you that you totally forgot about all that and thought you'd get away? Because you are so totally fucked up, you have to hand it to me for not cutting you into ribbons.”

“And who are you? His mom?” Of course she wasn't. But really, why the fuck was she concerned about that kid? The hand was back on his neck – he noticed now the gloves. She meant business. Then he noticed the symbol on the collar of her coat – the one symbol that was all over the place in Verona. “Della Scala. You're one of them.”

“So was this boy you seemed to enjoy. Sad thing is, men like you wrecked him. You'll understand this calls for retribution.”

“And you'd do what? Even the tightest ass would be worth me dying.” He spat the words – and it seemed that he could start to move a bit better now. Maybe with a bit of time... Her grip had not tightened. “But you know what? I still wonder how he could be so tight after taking so much cock. Of course I remember the Mercutio boy. He probably got fucked over by half of Verona. Not that you'd know. Or are you so bitter because you never had a go, you little cu–” Pain clutched his chest, and it felt like a goddamned seizure. That bitch. He saw the glint of the blade before it dug into his temple. It can't be, it can't! He tried to move, but he could not even breath, and it felt like a stone had been laid on his chest.

“You could have shut your gob and died a clean, swift death.” She was not smiling anymore. At all. Her voice sounded like a growl, or maybe he could not hear anything right. “But you pushed it. You talked shit about him. And before you die – because you are dying. The poison is getting back to work. Now that you can't speak, I'll tell you. This is my cousin you talked shit about. This is my family you fucked with. And you did not think I'd kill you. Because I'm a fucking bitch wearing fucking heels.” His vision was dimming, and it was like his head was swimming. Or stuck in cotton-wool. “But that bitch made it her purpose to make you and your kind pay. Consider it payback for all the lives you broke.”

Wait, how the fuck did she – “I took my time, watching you. It was almost too easy. Every day you gave me another reason to end you. You are nothing, _figlio d'un cane._ I just wish I had more time, to cut your _cazzo_ and make you eat it.”

As she bent over, he would have laughed – but he could not breathe, he was panicking – but under the blind panic of death closing in, he wanted to laugh – because it was not like looking in a mirror but into memories. The same wild look, the fear, the anger – the same that this kid had in his eyes all those years ago. And he had been beautiful. They all had been. A hiss was all the warning he got – red warmth, copper – and his lungs filling but not with air. From a distance, his members flailing, and her shadow – darker than the shadows at the edge of his vision. Blurred.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Luigi Lucheni was not the kind of man who embarrassed himself with compassion or anything of the sort. He had gone to Geneva to move from his country – one that he liked enough to be proud of his heritage, but not enough to stick around. Actually, irony decided that he would be working at an Italian restaurant on Place du Molard. One where waiters all spoke different languages – and where Lucheni was actually more at ease than most – speaking as many languages as he did was coming in handy, never mind how he came to learn them in the first place.

One evening that he was working a rather late shift, he noticed a man amidst the crowd. It actually did not happen as rarely as it sounded. After all, noticing people and reading them was a matter of survival. The one he noticed was sitting with a rather loud bunch. So loud even _he_ cringed. Which was saying something. Anyway, that guy was quite the looker. In fact, in Lucheni's book, it was exactly the kind of man who should not be allowed to walk around clothed, end of story. Or so he assumed. He did not have a special sight that made all fabrics see-through but hey, imagination was here to do the work. Alright, maybe that was not the kind of thoughts you're supposed to have when you are at work. Who cared? It took for 'his' customer to get up for Lucheni to check him out from the corner of his eye while he was heading back to the kitchen, and true enough, he was a very fine piece of a.

He returned to the restaurant a few more time, but every time, he had people with him. This forced Lucheni to postpone the flirting. At last, he caught him on his own. He went to take his order, as this one customer was on his side of the room. He asked in Italian – of course, the man could speak English, but Lucheni preferred his mothertongue.

“Nothing. I am waiting for some friends.”

“Sure.” He could wait some more. Lucheni was stepping back when the man called him back.

“A glass of wine would be good, actually.”

“Red?” Lucheni had a good memory for this sort of things. Keeping track of what people liked or disliked always helped in a pinch. The young man nodded, and off Lucheni went, sauntering to the cellar – almost. Last time, it had been some Codici. Nothing fancy, but it was a good wine. The name was nice too. It would be neat.

For almost two hours, the young man did not budge from his seat, and Lucheni had not counted how often he looked at his phone. That was one reason why he rarely bothered with people – they were unreliable and selfish. Oh, he was unreliable and selfish, so he knew what he was talking about. No one showed up and really, Lucheni could not wrap his brains around the fact that someone would stand up that one man of all people. One of his colleague, Lionello, nudged his shoulder.

“You are spacing out, Don Giovanni.”

“Shut up.” He grinned at Lionello. It was one of his favourite colleagues – he was nice to everyone, and in turn, was well-liked by all. And he spoke German as well as English, French, and Italian. It was actually very helpful when Lucheni was starting to mix things up. At least someone here was bound to get his meaning.

“Anyway, maybe you could get him to order something. The manager won't feel the need to throw him out, and you'd get to enjoy the view a bit more.”

“How does your wife bear with you?”

“From afar.”

Lucheni snorted: “Really though...”

“Want me to go?” Lionello was half-laughing by now. This won't do. And so, Lucheni mock-stomped his foot and went to 'his' customer with a menu.

“I'm waiting-” He sounded so forlorn that Lucheni did not even let him finish his sentence, arguing that waiting and starving were not synonyms. Maybe he did deserve the glare he got, but he would be damned if this was enough to deter him.

“Come on – my job is to make sure people have a good time, preferably with a full belly.” He knew he probably sounded like any Italian grandma in existence – mostly because he saw him falter a bit. He went on: “Honestly, you have to help me here. Else I'm good for the noose, and I'm really averse to ties.” And he noticed the double entendre only later. Honest. For once, he hadn't done it on purpose. Not that it really mattered anyway.

It got him a derisive snort: “I would hate having your death on my conscience. What do you suggest, then?”

“We have a really nice focaccia, along with a rucola salad. Or if you are in need of something heartier, we have a terrific risotto milanese.”

“Ever heard of a Veronese dabbling in Milanese kitchen?”

Lucheni filed the information away before he answered: “It's not poisoned, trust me. I'm not from Milan anyway.” He could not help grinning, and he probably looked like a total lout. Which he certainly was.

“Well...” He looked outside – the wind must be cold, because many people had turned their collars up. Rain was not quite far these days. “I'll try it then.”

Lucheni nodded and dashed to the kitchen. It was rather late, and he got some grousing from the cook – risotto took a good while to prepare. When he returned with it, the restaurant was practically empty and he had seen the manager go a few minutes ago. It rarely happened but it was always nice to be without the boss watching over you.

“There you are.”

“Thanks.” And damn, that was the saddest 'thank' he ever heard so far in his life. A glance at his customer brought forth the image of a kicked puppy, and for all his aversion of sickly sweet commiseration in general, Lucheni was not entirely heartless. He did what he did best – sat on the chair in front of his client. A quick look at his watch told him he had ten minutes before the end of his shift anyway. He tended to stay till the end to give the guys a hand, but still. He noticed the questioning stare of the man, so he explained – as best as he could:

“I can move off, if you prefer. But it's just that, really, I mean it when I say it's my job to make sure people enjoy their time here. And food is not good when you're sitting alone with your thoughts.” He meant it. It was the most unguarded thing he could have said at this moment, though.

“You sound like my uncle.”

“He's right, you know.” He did not know why he did that. Why he kept this man's company. Maybe because it was nice to have a conversation with someone? He had no clue. Soon, their talk took a lighter turn, and he ended up introducing himself – never mind that he had a name tag. The other man's name, Mercutio, suited him. As soon as they were back to safer grounds, he was quick-witted and fun. And to think Lucheni was despairing of Genevans' dullness.

“... and then, of course the hag had to chase me all across the block. I swear, why are people so anal about flower pots, I never know. This country is insane!”

“Well, you hanged from her balcony!”

“To evade a most angry boyfriend, I'll have you know. I'd be dead otherwise.”

Of course Mercutio did not buy it. But it was fun to be telling outstanding tales of his misfortunes.

“I once tried to go out by the balcony... I got caught, and given the worst earful of my life.”

“You sound like Rapunzel, come on!”

“Nah. No Mother Gothel here. And as you can see, I'm well-away still.”

“Speaking of being away, we are closing in a few. But the Mövenpick is still open.”

“If that's a ploy to feed me ice-cream, I'll have you know that you are rather close to getting an ending worthy of the Monty Pythons.”

“Huh. No mint for you.”

They eventually got out, and Lucheni thought about going back to his place directly – he was renting a flat on the right bank, and he was pretty certain that Mercutio would not go there. Nope. Everything about him spoke of old money, even if he did not advertise it. He would probably be staying on the left bank. Never mind that. Although he had to admit, it would be a shame – Mercutio had said earlier that he would probably leave the next day, he did not know when. It would be a shame to let him go like that. They were walking side by side near one of the bridges, when Mercutio stopped in the shadow of a streetlamp. There was virtually no one around – so Lucheni took his chance and kissed Mercutio lightly. He immediately retreated – he would never force himself on anyone, and he now waited to get a punch in the face – in case he had read Mercutio wrong earlier. He was not entirely prepared for an armful of Mercutio kissing him back forcefully. Not that he really minded.

Lucheni did not want to feel like he was taking advantage of someone's vulnerability – because that was how he interpreted Mercutio's actions. It was a desperate move, and Lucheni was not the kind to bother with desperate people. Mercutio stepped back, still close, but uncertain.

“I don't want your pity.”

“It's not.” It was not, not really, Mercutio was the kind of man Lucheni would go after on any given day. Lucheni was not stupid enough to turn him down – if only because he had half his sights on him since he first stepped in the restaurant. However, Mercutio did not seem to believe him, considering his bitter expression. Nevertheless, he did not move away – and that alone was proof that Mercutio did not want to be alone. Lucheni offered to walk with him back to his hotel; he was familiar with the city, and really, he did not want to leave him like that. Part of him may or may not have ulterior motives, but he did not wish for Mercutio to feel as though he owed him anything. After all, Lucheni was not so stupid, and he could understand rather well the other man's predicament.

They walked in silence, and the tension that had appeared was fading from them. Once at the hotel, Mercutio fidgeted on his spot, as though unsure regarding the course of conversation. It was obvious that Mercutio usually took the central position, however, in this moment he stayed on the side. Lucheni did not want to make it any more awkward, so he merely saluted him and made to go back where he came from. He was effectively stopped by a whisper. It was cliché, of course. But at the same time, he could not help the fact that yes, he heard it. And it worked. It was a simple request – a request to linger a bit more. Part of Lucheni had to admit that it was better than going back to an empty, cold flat; the other part screamed that it was going to end badly. He did not care overmuch about the voices, in fact, and so, he decided to stay.

Once in the room – it was spacious, but simple, and quite unlike anything Lucheni would have expected. Well, once in the room, he waited. He waited for Mercutio to make a move. He did not have to wait long, and this time, he did not bother with propriety. Soon, he was sprawled on the bed, half-naked, Mercutio on top of him, biting and kissing and scratching and it was glorious. Or it could have been if at one point Mercutio did not falter, and Lucheni took the lead again. It was odd, to be in control while his... partner? had been moments prior. Given the choice, he was the kind of person enjoying the attention best. However, he did not have much of a choice in this moment. He took his time to get Mercutio out of the remainder of his clothes, and sure, he did not mind rough play most of the time, but right now, it was probably not the most appropriate. Since when did he care? Mercutio's lips on his brought his brains back on track. He took a second to look back at him, and he really did not understand how could anyone stand him up. He was so handsome, it was criminal to leave him on his own.

It was an unusual situation for him, and so, he went with the only solution he could think of – he acted as he would like Mercutio to act. He kissed his neck, his hands roaming across his body. He wanted it to be good for him, even if it was just one time. Except, he was dealing with someone who was so passive, it was almost vexing. He moved back up from his position, and was ready to shoot a jab at Mercutio for acting like a damned doll. Except the look on Mercutio's face screamed at him to stop. He had seen such blank stares in women and men too used to being used that they did not care any more. He could have sworn Mercutio was not really there at all. Lucheni stopped his ministrations, letting go of Mercutio entirely, and went to turn on a light. This startled his partner back to reality, and the way he hoisted himself up – it was painful to watch. On the one hand, he thought he had to leave Mercutio be; on the other hand, he could not bear to. Making up his mind, he went back to him, kneeling on the bed next to him. He tentatively laid a hand on the nape of his neck in a gesture he hoped to be reassuring.

“Mercutio?” He spoke as gently as he could not to spook him. The light was cutting his profile in sharp shadows and he resented himself for still wanting him now.

“I'm sorry, I understand if you have to go, I mean...”

And Lucheni cut him off, because he had heard it before, and it was not what he wanted to get at: “I am not going anywhere. But you were just laying there like a doll and there's no way I leave you like that, you hear?”

“But it's just one time.” He sounded so dejected, so broken. It tore Lucheni's heart out. But no, no pity.

“Doesn't mean you have to have an out of body experience to go through it, feel me?”

And that was probably the best thing to say, because Mercutio actually snorted, and even if it was not a proper laughter, it was better than nothing.

“I feel you alright.”

“Good. Now, I'm not used to doing the whole work, so if you don't mind lend me a hand, that'd be neat.”

Mercutio kept smiling, which was good. “I'm not here to encourage your laziness.”

“True. But still.” He moved around so that he was facing Mercutio, a hand cupping his neck. “I see no reason for you to just sit on your haunch and wait. I bet you have better in store.” He was well aware that he had the filthiest grin in history – probably because it had been remarked upon quite often before.

As though something had been lifted from the room, Mercutio moved again – he rose to face him, smirking. “You sure about that?”

“I like to live dangerously.” He kept grinning the whole time.

“Good then.”

And gods, did something happen he had not seen, because one moment ago, Mercutio was withdrawn and ready to bolt, and right now... Well, suffice to say he rarely ever wanted to use the word 'devour' that much. He found himself sprawled back on the bed, and while it was not as rough as it had started, Mercutio was certainly not letting him go. He could not get enough, and he gave back every touch, every kiss – and even some more. His breathing grew shallower, and he could not tell if it was the heat, if his lungs had stopped working or anything. His mouth was slack, and he would have slapped himself for moaning like that. Except that he could not help it when Mercutio's hand was caressing him while he was carefully preparing him with the other. Lucheni had no qualms admitting that he preferred it that way, to be honest, and he certainly had no problem with being quite vocal in his appreciation of Mercutio's ministrations. He could not take it, and he honestly could not care less about whatever pain he could be in, he just needed more. And it was all he could do not to curse Mercutio when he refused to just get on with it. The frustration that made his blood boil was actually a good thing because when Mercutio finally took him, he could not contain his relief, which took the form of a keening cry. His back was hurting from how he was arching up but whatever it was he did not want to give it up.

Most of the time, Lucheni did not bother staying after. But right now, he was coming down from his high with Mercutio pressed against him. He did not want to move and disturb him. The kid looked knackered, and it did not feel so bad to stick around. However, he would not allow his partner to sleep without a bit of cleaning. He carefully got up and went to the bathroom, wiping himself clean with a wet towel, and he then took another one to do the same for Mercutio. He did not have time to move away that a pair of arms wrapped around his waist. Mercutio was asleep, if his breathing was anything to go by. Lucheni did not resist, instead he reclined on the bed, wrapping an arm around Mercutio's shoulder, pulling the sheets on top of them. It was weird. The whole situation was weird. But he was willing to give whatever comfort he could. He had no idea what plagued Mercutio – he was sure he did not want to know. And if, for a few hours, he managed to sleep and forget, then Lucheni guessed he could do it. He let his fingers card in his hair.

“There is someone for you out there, kid. For real.” And Lucheni was not so certain it was meant for Mercutio of for himself. But he sure was dead tired, and these pillows were puffy as heck. Sleep claimed him faster than he could think about it.

The next morning, he did not want to wait for Mercutio to be awake when he went. He knew it was not the best move, however. So he lingered until Mercutio stirred. He seemed surprised to see Lucheni still in the area. After being asked why, he explained that it would have been bad form to leave without saying 'bye'.

“Besides, I wanted to make sure... if you want to come back to my workplace to have lunch, I can tell you when I'm here or not. Just in case...”

“In case I want to avoid you? That's a bit silly.”

“Anyway. I...” He shook his head, and instead, he went to lay a quick kiss at the corner of Mercutio's lips – to give himself time to speak. “Just think about what I said, alright?” He was not sure what he really meant, but Mercutio nodded, so it was good enough for him.

“ _Grazie_ , Luigi.”

“ _Di nulla_ , kid. It was a pleasure meeting you, I have to say.”

“Flatteries, et caetera.” But Mercutio was smiling, and Lucheni thought that it should be forbidden. Not that he minded too much.

“I know right? Anyway, see you around, maybe.”

He left a bit later, and he was not sure how he should feel about the whole thing. However, the uncertainty was quickly replaced by a sense of exhilaration as he walked back to the docks – he was tired, sore, and the sun was shining. Honestly, it could be a lot worse. And now, to resign and change countries. Britain seemed to call him. Maybe it was time to listen, who knew?

 


	4. Chapter 4

Benvolio had dropped everything and rushed to the hospital the minute Chiara called him. She'd assured him it was nothing very serious and Mercutio was fine, but part of him suspected it was only to calm him, just so he'd drive carefully and would not find himself in an accident of his own. Part of him also knew that Mercutio was never really fine.

Thank goodness she'd told him the room number, because he'd have found himself unable to ask anything coherent to the desk clerk. When he arrived in front of the room, the Prince was pacing, and for an instant he feared something dire might have happened that kept them out of there; he wanted to see Mercutio with his own two eyes, to make sure he was safe and sound, to give him what little comfort he could – but there was no avoiding the Prince. She smiled at him, though he could see her boiling inside. Caterina Della Scala was scary when angered or worried, and now she was both; but she seemed equally aware of that effect, because she evidently tried her best to be nice.

“Ah, Benvolio, I'm glad you could come.”

Did he really have a choice?

“Is he... is he ok?”

“Just a few scratches.” Chiara had come out of nowhere like a devil from its box – but she'd easily have scared such a creature away: she was usually all very neat, trying her best to fit in despite her height, dyed hair and charisma that made her stand out in any situation; but right now she was completely dishevelled, as if she'd pulled at her hair out of anger; and she looked ready to kill. “No-one else was hurt. That nitwit was on a fucking straight road and managed to find himself a ditch to crash the car into!” She lowered her voice. “He says he tried to avoid a deer or something, but... there's no way to know for sure...”

“Don't say that!” Rina interrupted.

“Say what?” Chiara whispered in an angry tone. “That his parents took oh such great care of him; that we've been _entirely_ there for him when he got himself hurt in the past, that there's no way he wouldn't try something more drastic? Don't delude yourself, _zia_ , you tried your best but that's not exactly enough.”

No matter how much Benvolio would have wished she were wrong, he knew this was all too accurate. Rina was just staring at her niece, and after that Chiara kept quiet on the subject, but they kept exchanging looks, as if they were silently fighting. He felt he had to do something to break the tension; quarrelling over who was responsible would not do; it would not make things any better, would not help Mercutio – and if Chiara was right...

“Can't we go in?” he asked. “Why aren't you in there with him, is there something wrong? Whatever the cause of the accident, he needs us right now...”

“Oh, I'm not going in there!” Rina exclaimed. “I'd explode and yell at him until he'd cower and swear never to drive a car again. Whoever let him drive that one anyway?”

“Calm down, _zia_ , the whole hospital will hear you. I know it's your city, but still. No risk he'll drive that one again anyway...” Chiara looked at Benvolio. If he'd understood correctly, the car had been completely wrecked in the accident. “I can't go back in there and listen to his fucked-up excuses one more minute, Ben. There's only so much nonsense I can take.”

So in short none of them would be there to comfort Mercutio. It grieved him that his family could not put their anger aside for him, but at the same time he understood that it would not help if they blew up a fuse. He knocked, lightly in case Mercutio was asleep, and then went in.

“Mercutio?” he whispered.

“Oh, you too, now? Come to lecture me? You're taking turns? That was just a small accident and, look –” he proceeded to take off his bandages: “nothing, nothing, look, that one's but a scratch!”

Benvolio hurried to him and took his hands, to stop him. To show him he was there; to have himself the reassurance that his friend was alive, though not so well. He was hysterical, and soon wrenched his hands free. “Oh, come on now! Will you cry, too? Make me swear not to drive again? Pretend you care?”

Benvolio would have slapped him. He tried to take back his hands instead. “I do care, you know it! We all care. Have you seen what state your aunt and cousin are in? They might not show it like you'd expect, but they love you. And I too. Yeah, 't'is but a scratch – whatever – but you could have killed yourself!”

“Oh, so you too think like her? So for you I tried to kill myself?”

“That is not what I said, I...”

“Well, let me make this clear, I did not, I tried to avoid a fucking deer, and managed so well there's no carcass to prove it! But y'know what? If I'd died it'd not have been so bad! Yeah, that's right, I'd have welcomed it.”

“Mercutio...”

“What? You care? Stop saying that because...”

Benvolio pressed his lips against Mercutio's – gently, lightly, just to make him stop. It was something he'd never dared, because he did not want to be like all those men who took advantage of him and let him believe he was the one using them. He took him in his arms, held him against his heart, suddenly not caring about whoever might walk in. He needed Mercutio, and right now Mercutio needed him.

“Don't you dare say I don't care! You're my best friend, and more. I forbid you to go where I can't follow!” He was crying by now, but he did not care, he had no shame to have in front of Mercutio. “Don't make me get you back from hell to kick your ass!”

Mercutio had suddenly fallen very serious too. “Ben... Stop that... You know I would never...”

“Don't say you'd never when you just said you'd have gladly done it.”

“I did not crash my car on purpose, Benny.”

“I believe you, but still. I know for a fact you're not careful; you think we don't care and even if you're not trying to harm yourself, you're being so careless it's the same in the end. I don't know what it is but... If you meant what you said earlier... If it's because you think no-one would miss you and it's not worth living, you're wrong! I care – I'll always care – and I won't leave you – and certainly when you're not okay, and...”

“I'm okay,” Mercutio said, albeit sheepishly.

“Look me in the eyes and say that again? Maybe you need help, maybe you don't want to, I don't know, it's your choice. But whatever happens, I'll be there. If you decide to leave the city to start over elsewhere, I'll follow, if...”

“You're at Uni, Benny, you can't just...”

“I don't like it anyway, I mean to change subjects, I might as well change places. That's not the point. Point is, I, and your family (and right now they're out there and they're pissed at you for putting yourself in danger), we'd do anything in our power to make you happy. Because you fucking deserve it. And I'll repeat that until you either get it or turn deaf: you deserve to be happy. You're better than whatever Verona thinks of you, those gossips out there don't deserve you; you owe it to _yourself_ to get up and fight, to stop thinking of yourself like that – nothing you did was shameful, it's just the people you met that weren't good enough for you. But do things that make you think life is worth living if you're not satisfied with what you have right now, because I'm sure you're capable of just about everything; get away from whoever hurt you, and be proud of yourself, because you're the most wonderful, intelligent, funny and kind person I know, and though you sometimes manage to hide it, you should not _forget_ it.”

He stopped, feeling guilty that he ended up lecturing his friend who'd been already quite shaken, but then it felt good to finally say all that he'd been keeping to himself for months, and Mercutio had seemed ready to listen at last. He had no clue what to do to comfort him beyond that, so he just held his hands and kept him close. After some time, Mercutio looked up.

“Ben?”

“Yes?”

“Do you resent me? For... that?” he pointed at his hospital room.

“What? No! I can't resent you! But I care, and I'm worried.”

Time passed, then: “Ben? They say I can leave tonight, but... I don't want to be alone.”

“I'll stay here till then.”

“No, you don't understand, I...”

He could hear the words were stuck in Mercutio's throat.

“I'll stay with you. Now, tonight, and for as long as you need me.”

_That's what friends are for_ he thought, but did not say it, for he was not sure it would comfort him. And what they had was beyond friendship, beyond words.


End file.
